


An artist's statement

by PepNpaps



Category: Original Work
Genre: Art, Artist Statement, Bad Poetry, Inspired by Music, Inspired by Photography, Inspired by Poetry, Inspired by Real Events, Photography, Poetry, Queer Themes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-08
Updated: 2019-11-08
Packaged: 2021-01-25 04:48:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 451
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21350488
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PepNpaps/pseuds/PepNpaps
Summary: An artist statement.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 1





	An artist's statement

**Author's Note:**

> The images and words below all belong to me.

Every time I write one of these I feel as if I repeat myself each time.

An endless spiral of mannerisms and phrases.

I cannot help it though, for my art rarely has meaning that I can identify.. Often mindless moments in a futile attempt to escape the memories and emotions which drown me.

Though, sometimes, they are a doorway. A passage into my fading memory.

A broke man’s therapy.

A darkened room which cradles me in a blanket of candy red during my hours of need, allowing me a moment to work in silence. This ia a rarity with a mind such as mine, which howls insecurities at my fickle subconscious whenever I find myself without the lulls of music to soothe me.

When the howls became deafening and I find myself fearful as the jackalope, I retreat to the confines of the electronic labyrinth.

Listening to the lulling tunes of strangers, I find the strength to continue what little work I manage to do.

Scanning and altering files in a foolish attempt to express these thoughts.

In retrospect, as I gaze into the maze of my work. I begin to realise I began to incorporate my memories into these pieces. Be it fantastical or something non-fictional, they are crafted by my scarred hands.

Each choice I make...

Each colour I incorporate...

Even the decision to leave the grain and dirt particles amongst the images is carefully considered. Imperfections that many of my fellow artists would deem ‘defective’.

So, when I see a fellow or a friend throw away a piece they deem unsatisfactory. I collect it. For in its own way, it too is perfect.

This reason is also why I don’t alter the appearance of my subjects. For, they may not be conventionally beautiful. To me, they shine brighter than any jewel.

Along with that, I wish to help them learn to accept themselves.

Though, as my mind delves into the absurd. Taking a number from my subconscious. Into the land of chaos and beliefs. I find myself fiddling with filters and abstract shapes though I have scarcely touched the process.

But, In a strange way, I see myself in these unwanted pieces. With fading colours and aging scars. In a time long ago, I too would’ve been deemed as ‘defective’. Disposed of or altered to fit the mould which the lords deemed worthy.

Once I took all notions like this to heart. Deemed myself irregular and unwanted. Dispute that, as time passes and with their passing, experiences had, and people met.

I grew into my skin. Removing myself from those who tore at my pages.

I began to realise that these imperfections are what makes me, me.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

> So, after debating with myself for a while I decided to post this here.
> 
> Please, give me your feedback dears. I'm curious


End file.
